


#16: A Suntan Is Earned, Not Bought

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Series: 100 Rules for Adults (That Clint Barton Never Learned) [16]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, bad tans, not so stealth caretaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2419142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint returns from a mission and can't find Phil. Then he finds Phil somewhere he hadn't expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#16: A Suntan Is Earned, Not Bought

Clint had been back on base for six hours after a ten-day op and hadn’t yet managed to track Phil down. He hadn’t been in his office when Clint had gone looking. He also hadn’t been in the gym, the 3rd floor break-room with the decent coffee and anonymous stash of French vanilla coffee creamer that Phil wouldn’t admit to liking but occasionally needed to get through the afternoon, medical, R&D, or with Fury.

If Clint didn’t know any better, he’d think Phil was avoiding him. 

So Clint went back the little cubicle that was supposed to be his office, part of the cube farm that made up the base of operations for most of the level-5 agents. He worked on his report from the mission he’d just returned from, cleared out his inbox, and was out the door by 9. 

He knew there wasn’t anything edible at his place (hadn’t been before he’d left if he was being honest), so he stopped at a corner store for eggs, bread, and cheese. He took the stairs up to his floor two at a time, then stopped with his key halfway to the lock when he heard the sound of his television. Clint paused.

He was unarmed, but not helpless. There were three guns stashed around the apartment, as well as half a dozen knives and a compact cross bow (yes, he thought it was cheating, but he knew his apartment wasn’t big enough to allow him to use his full draw on any of his combat weapons). In other words, he just needed to be able to fight off whoever was inside long enough to get to one of his weapons. 

Silently, he set his paper bag of groceries down, took a steadying breath, and shoved the door open as he combat-rolled inside, coming up into a ready crouch, and froze.

Phil, who was a god-awful shade of orange, sat on his lumpy sofa, watching Supernanny. Phil, who looked half amused and half like a coiled snake ready to strike at the intrusion, but who also looked like he’d made himself at home in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair mussed like he hadn’t bothered to comb it after waking up, and a dirty plate and cup by his socked feet, which were propped up on the coffee table.

“Phil,” Clint greeted, drawing himself up. “Hi.”

“Oh, shit, is it Thursday?” Phil asked, glancing around for a clock or calendar or his phone or something.

“Uhm, yeah. You okay?” Clint asked, a spike of fear and worry running through him. Orange Phil he could probably deal with, but losing-track-of-time-Phil? That was fucking frightening. 

Phil slumped back against the couch. “Yeah,” he muttered. He sighed. “I’ll just…”

Clint shook his head. “You holed up here for a reason, you can stay,” he said with a shrug. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the current shade of your skin?”

Phil groaned. “I’m still orange? I’ve avoided mirrors for a few days now.”

“Oo-kay,” Clint said. “I’m gonna grab the groceries, make us something that’s not whatever you found to scrounge out of my cabinets to eat the last couple days, and you can tell me what’s going on.”

Ten minutes later, with scrambled eggs and toast, Clint and Phil sat side by side on the couch. 

“So, Fury wanted me to take this mission,” Phil said after a few minutes of each of them inhaling their food. 

“A mission involving an incredibly bad spray-tan?” Clint asked.

Phil nodded. “Turns out, I’m highly allergic to something in the spray. I broke out in hives within minutes of the application.”

Clint grimaced in sympathy. “Not that I mind, really, but why’d you come here?”

“They kept me in medical for the first day, it was so bad. They were worried that I’d stop breathing,” Phil explained. “And they wanted to check up on me. My building has a door man. An incredibly gossipy doorman,” he clarified. “Whereas here…”

“No one gives the weirdness a second look,” Clint finished with a grin. It did come in handy sometimes. 

“Right,” Phil agreed with a nod. 

They ate in silence for a few more minutes, just the sound of the tv and the building beyond intruding. 

“I can be out of your hair tomorrow,” Phil said quietly. “Medical doesn’t need to check up on me anymore. The swelling’s all gone down, and they say I’ll be fine as long as I stay on the meds for a few more days.”

Clint shrugged. “It’s fine. Stay as long as you need. The couch is comfy and I don’t mind sleeping out here.”

“I’m not-“

“No.” Clint cut him off. “If you’re staying, you’re gonna keep sleeping in my bed with the insanely soft sheets that won’t have you trying to scratch your skin off like the couch would.” His tone brokered no argument.

Phil slumped again, looking relieved. “Thanks,” he said softly.


End file.
